Black Swan

She was an outcast,

A swirling storm,

Deep inside her,

Pushing her,

Towards the edge of sanity.

Unlike most girls,

She liked dull colors,

They were calm to look at.

She preferred,

A small level of material,

Separating her from the dirt,

She knew that’s where she came from,

And that’s where she’ll go.

She had a hurricane in her mind,

But from the outside,

She looked like any next girl,

For she was a black swan,

In a flock of white.

-Prajakta Dengale

Keep smilingâ˜ș



She picked up her phone,

In the hope it beeped due to his message,

But boy was she disappointed,

When it wasn’t him,

She craved that familiar voice,

Wondered will she ever hear it again,

Sighing, she continued her painting,

The brush flowing over the canvas,

Like wind blows,

Beautiful shapes formed,

A trail of tear drop,

Mixed the colors till the bottom,

She wiped it away,

Paint on her rosy cheeks,

The painting was almost ready,

When she finished,

Another teardrop, attracted by gravity,

Rolled down her cheeks,

She smiled one last time,

Before she collapsed,

Giving into her breathless sobs,

Her knees hurt,

But not more than her heart did,

Her eyes burned,

But not more than her insides felt,

The floor was covered with colors,

Red, just like her eyes,

White, just like her pale skin,

And at last black,

Just like what she saw, when he went away.

– Prajakta Dengale